


When Snow Burns

by Paranoir



Category: Interview With the Vampire (1994), Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Flowers, I can't write a kissing scene for shit, Lestat and Louis talk with their eyes, Lestat just wants Louis to come home, Lots of similes and metaphors are ripped from the song this was inspired by bc they were too good, Louis the ignorant slut™, M/M, Songfic, cuddling in the snow, i said the same thing about my smut tho in my last fic and look at where it's at now, i wrote this when I should be studying for finals, post IWTV, somehow I didn't write something smutty or creepy??, they only talk once tbh they stare at each other through the whole fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9314258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranoir/pseuds/Paranoir
Summary: 25 years after Louis visited Lestat in New Orleans for the final time at the end of Interview with the Vampire. Lestat couldn't stop thinking about Louis after that, so every night he looked for him. And on this night, he found him.Inspired by the song Wasp by Motionless in White. Tbh there's a lot of songs by MIW that make me think of Louis and Lestat.





	

**Author's Note:**

> God bless me I wrote this to take my mind off of finals. I've been extremely sick too this week, and I've been missing school which isn't good at all considering my finals are in two days. It's like I'm walking on a bridge made of rope that's BURNING but I'm completely fine ;'')

Winter's night had made her bloom, yet she still held her vendetta against that  _horrid_ Lestat. Every season had it out for him, but Winter in particular: She was the cruelest. She laughed in his face over his isolation; how it drove him to melancholy; bitterness. 

And she only did so for the irony. Karma, Lestat even assumed he deserved, for he hadn't seen him since he visted him at the old house off St. Charles Avenue.

Since then, haunted by the panorama of his face, Lestat roamed the New Orleans streets in hopes to find him again. It had been two and a a half decades since he started his quest, and still, he never found him. Yet, with intuition nipping at the skin on his heart,  _something tonight,_ Lestat felt,  _was peculiar._

No, it wasn't the peculiarity of the snow on the ground, which had finally started melting after two weeks of staying frozen. And no, it wasn't the insects of people Lestat had passed.

He just sensed it before he saw it, is all. And now he was going to follow it. Follow it to the edge of the Earth until it died like a pinched candle flame.

As he walked, he peered ahead. It was like a dot under the streetlight. He could  _taste_ ~~~~him now. His pace hastened, and he nearly bumped into a woman. A car passed by and ran over mucky slush on the edge of the street, which found themselves on the vamp of Lestat's leather shoes. On a normal day, he would have burst into a bout of disgust and curse whoever caused the deed. He didn't even pay attention to it tonight.

Lestat could hear him now: His heart beating, newly consumed blood corroding within his veins. He was hunting, yet he did not move from below that streetlight.

Lestat furrowed his eyebrows.

_Oh, he was beckoning him._

His pace grew, and the man under the streetlight stayed a statue. Lestat wanted to run. He wanted to run and scream at him. 

But he couldn't. He couldn't attract that kind of attention. 

He haulted behind him, apprehensive to what he was going to do now, but he did nothing. 

That only provoked Lestat into standing next to him. He didn't look at him. He didn't speak to him. He only waited... and he did nothing.

Lestat could almost feel the man's hand on his own, and his hand tingled. It yearned to engross itself into the stoic hand and stay there; the feeling only fueled the aroma of  _him_ to pool deeper inside Lestat's lungs. He needed him, and it made his head ache.

Then the memories came. Turning him. Sleeping with him in the same coffin. Their first kiss. Their love. The slaves. The house fires. ...Their late daughter... Paris. Armand. And that fateful night he had seen him again outside the old dreary house windows. His goodbye that same night was just as macabre.

They were going through his mind as vehement as a hurricane. Yes, he was planning to say it to him tonight when the time would come: He was going to vow to never leaving him again.

"Louis." He said.

It was then he started to move. Lestat huffed, and walked by his side again. 

"Louis." He said again.

He didn't reply, but Lestat knew he was listening.

_He's always listening to him._

"I can show you a beautiful place where the snow looks more like diamond than water. Will you follow me?"

There was a pause, but it wasn't long.

"I'll follow you." Louis said.

So he did. And Lestat even made sure by turning around some point at a full one-eighty to see if Louis was there. He only looked at his legs, for he didn't dare look upon that gorgeous face. Turning back, he could hear Louis laugh behind him. Lestat didn't say anything about it.

Louis followed him to a house which wasn't very far from where Lestat had approached him. Lestat stayed to the hem of the fence and turned at the corner, then he stopped. Louis stopped too when he was at his side.

What he saw was a garden. Vines slept on the same fence that was on the side of the house, and it was so tall that neither Vampire could peek their heads above into the backyard. The garden itself was quaint, and the flowers were arranged so artistically that even the blandest shrubs could be complimented as beautiful. They were sleeping with the vines, as snow had covered them like a blanket, but Lestat was right: The snow on the flowers looked more like they were encrusted in actual diamond. The way they reflected the light made them even brighter. Even the snow around them remained untouched, and looked far softer than the snow on the street, which was dense and thick from melting for so long.

"I made aquaintances with the woman that lives here," Lestat said, "she's old, and is a retired botanist. She told me how she loves to plant and tend to her garden, though it makes her sad that more people can't see it. That's why she keeps it outside of her backyard, in case any stranger so happens to stumble upon it. That's how I met her."

He backed up slightly into a bush, and cut a diamond encrusted rose off it with his thumb. He took it, and gifted it to Louis.

"Now I can tell her another person saw it."

Louis twirled the rose around in his hand. It was as crimson as blood, but smelled magnificent. Far too magnificent for any rose in this world. 

"You're a criminal." Lestat told him.

Louis furrowed his eyebrows. The flower petals tickled his lips as he asked, "How come?"

For the first time that night, Lestat looked at Louis, and almost died from that portrait of his face. It was just as he remembered it twenty-five years ago when Louis visited him. Louis's skin was the color of January; the purest shade of white Lestat had ever known, and Louis still retained the beauty. He was sweetly _cadaverous,_ with silk raven hair that always draped about his shoulders like the most perfect doll in the shop. February cried upon his lips, as his eyes trembled as softly as the green in the stem of the rose he held. It made him everlastingly innocent. Innocent enough for Lestat to want to wrap his arms around him and protect him for eternity.

"-You stole my heart!" Lestat said, "You know this! Still, you love to torture me into coming after you again and again! Well, you know what Louis? I'm never leaving you again! I'm vowing this to you: My Love! I'm never going to leave you until death takes me! Because if you die before me, then I shall never leave your corpse! Louis, I love you! And you love me! So why do we hurt each other the way we do?"

Louis stared, stoic, and never replied. Lestat only huffed, and lied into the snow. He was staring at the stars now, lost. Louis followed him down, and lied next to him. Some of his hair found their way against Lestat's cold cheek, and he could smell him. Somehow, Lestat's hand found itself intertwined within Louis's, yet he didn't look at him. He didn't even know if Louis was looking at him.

"Lestat." Louis said, but his words became nothing as Lestat climbed over him. He was captivated by Louis: Vulnerable and pure, green eyes trembling at his reflection. Lestat's legs were tight at his hips, as Louis had his hands softly at his forearms. All he could feel now was the heat in Louis's breath against his lips, and even that became nothing when he pressed his lips against them. 

Louis's feather lips were cold, but burned acid on Lestat's face, dissolving him completely into his lover. Louis let out a moan, the snow around him bleeding out with his beauty. It seemed Louis was made for Lestat, for every time he kissed him, his lips fit perfectly into Louis, vibrant as his very own frailty which Lestat was always fixated upon and keen on keeping safe.

Lestat lifted his head up, and looked at his Louis. He was staring at Lestat, sipping in the air like honey. Lestat wiped the blood off the side of his lips with his thumb, and his eyes shined bright at him, the vehemence absolutely breaking him. He wanted Lestat to kiss him again, so he did, but after, he laid back beside him.

Louis snuggled into his chest, perfectly sheltered under his neck, and broken. 

"I love you." He whispered.

It began to snow again, and snowflakes found themselves on Louis's eyelashes. Even though the snow wasn't cold, Lestat wrapped his arms tight around his fledging and buried his face into the side of his head. Loving in tranquility was more of an art than loving in loquacity, and it held far more meaning.

Louis writhed in his arms and grabbed his cheeks, now powdered in a light blanket of beautiful snowflakes. Lestat blinked at him.

"Lestat?" He asked.

"What is it Louis?"

What Louis said nearly made every single nerve in Lestat's body cry out and sing in the most melodic form of existence. It nearly drove him to tears, because it was all he wanted. All he hoped for. Just like old times. Winter wouldn't laugh at him anymore now, nor would the other seasons.

"Please take me home."


End file.
